You see, Tim Eyman isn't anti-anything. He's pro-money. And his life philosophy helps pay the bills.

What, you ask, is that weltanschauung? Simple: let the voters decide! Car tabs for hundreds, or car tabs for $35? Let the voters decide! A magical monorail or boring old buses? Let the voters decide! Snow or rain? Evolution or intelligent design? Carmel macchiato or peppermint mocha? Regular or diet? Organic or steroid-fueled? Free will or determinism? GEICO or State Farm? Spielberg or Lucas? Po-tay-to or po-taw-to? Paper or plastic? Let the voters decide!

Except for when it comes to the voters deciding that their elected representatives ought to, you know, represent them.

Jan 30, 2006

Tim Eyman says he will file an initiative today to repeal the gay-rights bill narrowly adopted Friday by the state Senate.

The longtime initiative promoter said in an e-mail to supporters and the media late Sunday, “Politicians aren’t thinking about what the voters want. Let the voters decide.”

“Politicians are deciding based on special interest group pressure and their own re-election calculations,” Eyman added. “The voters have watched this disgusting display of arrogance and selfishness for weeks. The issue has become hopelessly politicized.”

You gotta hand it to a guy who can say with equanimity that politicians simultaneously ignore the will of the people and vote based on their re-election chances.

Jan 26, 2006

Don't uncork the champagne until the pen swoops over paper, but you might want to put a bottle on ice. Only one question, though: if the landmark gay rights bill passes the Senate and is signed, as promised, by Governor Gregoire, what are the chances its opposition will resort to challenging the statute in court?

If the supreme court rules in favor of same-sex unions, and lawmakers in Olympia are asked by the court to create a legal framework for state recognition of gay relationships, will the same legislators who took so long to green-light the civil rights bill be able to quickly say yes to civil marriage for gays and lesbians? Will Republicans flog the gay rights issue in the lead-up to November, when the entire house and much of the senate will stand for reelection? Will Governor Christine Gregoire, who backed the civil rights bill and says she is eager to sign it into law on Tuesday, be similarly eager to back gay marriage? And will Tim Eyman succeed in his "Let the Voters Decide" effort to repeal the new gay civil rights law via a statewide vote?

As Sanders points out, the last option isn't likely (I don't think Eyman has ever made a public statement on the issue), since 60% of Washington voters back gay rights--a complete turnaround since 1997, back when Initiative 677 failed.

I think back to early 1997, when I was a college freshman writing a Comp 101 paper on why "gay Christian" was an absolute contradiction, homosexuality being unique among sins at tarnishing a soul beyond God's recognition. Yet nine years and many life experiences later, and largely due to time spent and meals shared with an openly lesbian mentor teacher, every trace of anti-gay bigotry has been cleansed from my system. For many Washingtonians, I'd suspect the transformation worked the same way. It's easy to be prejudiced against an unknown Other. But when you know someone gay... it no longer makes sense.

This victory belongs to all those brave men and women who came out of the closet, enduring their family's ostracism, their friends' awkward silences, their coworkers' teasing. To those who worked tirelessly in the legislature to build friendships and erode the distrust built up by ignorance. To Cal Anderson, who never saw the fruits of his labors, and to Ed Murray, who did.

AndrewAramaic for "Hops." Benjamin Franklin said that "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

James and John ZebedeeThe name "Zebedee" means "Son of Thunder," related to the twins' struggles with Irritable Bowel. As Paul counsels us, suffering leads to patience, patience to character, and character to hope.

PhilipLatin for "Git-er-done." As the Good Book says, "The prayer of a righteous man availeth much."

You might have seen this hackneyed sermon illustration while browsing through Kirk Cameron's website. It takes various forms--sometimes paragraphs are cut out, sometimes words are changed--but the basic story goes like this: An African pastor is martyred for his faith in Christ. After his death, these inspirational lines are found:

“I’m part of the fellowship of the unashamed, the die has been cast, I have stepped over the line, the decision has been made- I’m a disciple of Jesus Christ. I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away or be still.

My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is heaven, my road is narrow, my way is rough, my companions are few, my guide is reliable, my mission is clear. I won’t give up, shut up, let up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up for the cause of Jesus Christ.

I must go till He comes, give till I drop, preach till everyone knows, work till He stops me & when He comes for His own, He will have no trouble recognizing me because my banner will have been clear.”

The ones that reached the end of the belt dropped helplessly into a pot of boiling water, to be cooked and eaten by large, ravenous creatures (my lunch mates) waiting to crack open their bodies and eat their flesh. My only consolation was to know that death would come quickly to these little creatures and end their unimaginable pain. I couldn't help but feel sick. I wanted to run into the kitchen, break open the bags of imprisoned shellfish and yell, "Run! Run for your lives!"

Three months later, the chickens are now full-grown and not so cute. They make more messes than my six kids combined and they still don't lay eggs. I regularly make chicken soup for dinner in hopes that the steaming aroma will drift across the chicken coop in the backyard, reminding those freeloading feathered friends to lay some eggs soon . . . or else.

Jan 22, 2006

Doubters, silence. The Seahawks crushed the Panthers in grand fashion, dominating on both sides of the ball en route to a 34-14 victory and their first-ever trip to the Super Bowl. Matt Hasselbeck couldn't miss. Shaun Alexander scored two TDs. And the defense--the defense!--picked off Delhomme three times and made Steve Smith pout like a chump.

Have you ever remembered something, only to find out it was someone else's memory? I have. At least, I think I have--because I can't remember exactly how or when. Which may mean I have a stolen memory of a stolen memory...

It's a paradigm case of government ineptitude. Someone comes up with a slogan. It's reviewed by a couple of middle-aged dorks with no social life, good taste, or musical sense. Then it's shipped off to a fifth-rate rock'n'roll "artist" to be recorded as a Public Service Announcement. The result: "Drive Hammered, Get Nailed," the dumbest song in Washington state history.

The radio spot: a screechy rock tune full of distorted guitars, fake drums and stupid lyrics. "Drive hammered, get nailed. / I said drive hammered, you're gonna get nailed." The screecher's voice swoops and dives like a kamikaze pilot. "Drive hammmerrrred? You're gonna git naiiiiled."

Word to Washington state: if you ever need to know if an ad campaign is going to suck, save your money and hire this blogger. I'll give you a true, unadorned opinion for $500, satisfaction guaranteed. "Drive drunk, get laid" was never a winner. Ever.

Perhaps it's the pseudoephedrine coursing through my system, but for some reason I find this story oddly compelling. Quixotic as their quest may be, the activists seeking to evict David Souter (one of several justices voting "yea" in Kelo) from his home to replace it with a tax-generating hotel have set upon a most concrete way to demonstrate to cloistered, robe-decked intellectuals that abstract decisions have real-world consequences, and that even they are not immune from a bad ruling. Make it "close to home," literally.

But you shouldn't do that! is the natural response. It's unfair to target a justice simply because he ruled a certain way. Yep--which is why a completely unrelated celebrity would have been a better choice. Going after, say, Mel Gibson's mansion in Malibu to bulldoze it and build a convention center... that'd get people's attention. After all, everyone knows who Mel Gibson is.

He and his team analysed the usage patterns of 88 deception-linked words within the text of recent campaign speeches from the political leaders. They then determined the frequency of these patterns in each speech, and averaged that number over all of that candidate’s speeches. [Canadian Liberal Paul] Martin received a ranking of 124, while [Conservative Stephen] Harper and [New Democrat Jack] Layton scored 73 and 88, respectively.

Jan 19, 2006

As a teacher in Washington state, I'm obligated to attain a professional certificate, to take extra courses to prove I'm Genuine 100% Teacherly Goodness. I've decided to attempt National Board Certification. Here are four reasons why.

1. Professional GrowthQuite frankly, I'm not yet a good teacher, not nearly as good as I want to be, not nearly as good as my students deserve. I have several good teacherly qualities--passion, intellect, self-criticism, open-mindedness, personality--but I haven't yet perfected my instruction, assessment, and curricular design. (I have perfected the art of the tacky tie, however.)

2. EconomicsWashington still provides a $3500 annual stipend for nationally certified teachers, and scholarships to help defray the $2500 program fee. Since national certification supersedes state requirements, and I have to earn a ProCert anyway, the choice is simple.

3. TimeI've taught for four years, one more than the program requires. Next year is that magical fifth year when all goes well. Chances are, I'll have good classes again, in subjects I've already taught. That sailing's too smooth for this ship. I could stand 200-400 hours of extra writing, videotaping, and agonizing to maintain the chaos of my perilous voyage over the wine-dark sea.

So you get a special thrill when watching cheaters get their comeuppance. Even better if the comeuppance is an electric shock, and you're male. Is it hard-wired or learned? Who cares? It's sweet revenge!

Jan 18, 2006

You've heard of those statistics that prove that removing prayer in schools set in motion the rapid descent of American morality, not to mention educational performance, right? That Engel v. Vitale smashed our moral compass and sent us spiraling into a whirlpool of corruption, decadence, and salty snacks?

But you're probably unaware of a statistic so unbelievable, so shocking that it had to be kept in the unread middle section of Newsweek on a page no one would ever read due to the overwhelming photograph of a balding, mustachioed, bespectacled man with excessive arm hair.

For the next thousand, I offer you a plethora of promises, a bold outlook for the future. Inspiration. Hope.

Wherever stuff happens, and I think of somethin' witty to say about it, I'll be there. Wherever a politician barfs into the lap of a Japanese dignitary, I'll be there. I'll be all around in the dark. I'll be everywhere. Wherever you can look. Wherever there's a fight, so hungry people can eat, I'll be there. Wherever there's a cop beatin' up a guy, I'll be there. I'll be in the way guys yell when they're mad. I'll be in the way kids laugh when they're hungry and they know supper's ready, and when the people are eatin' the stuff they raise and livin' in the houses they build--I'll be there, too.

I make this Whitmanesque oath because I am Walt Whitman.

I lean and loaf and scratch where it itches. I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world, in the culverts where children pluck legs off insects, in the subways where a million strangers ignore a million more, in the lunch lines where vegetables recline stupidly, in smoke-filled alleys and back rooms, in the cables and wires that shuttle thoughts from Massachusetts to Texas, Thoreau be damned.

Got several gift cards to Barnes and Noble this Christmas, including one from my brother and sister-in-law, promptly spent on Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!, which everyone ought to read at least once annually. (Thank you, Matt and Charity!)

But they're not all gone, which brings me to my conundrum. When it comes to books, I'm even stingier than usual--the library is free, after all--so I buy only books that are really, really worthwhile.

Recommend a book I'll enjoy for a lifetime, and if I purchase that book, you'll receive lifetime membership in an exclusive group: People I Admire Almost as Much as Richard Feynman.

I blame myself. In the good old days, I never shopped at K-Mart or Walmart or even JC Penney. I was a Mervyns man. Mervyns had an outstanding clearance section--up to eighty percent off shirts, slacks, sweaters. Glorious, never paying full price for anything. Glorious for me, but not for profit-starved Mervyns.

But it got worse. In recent years, I discovered Ross and Marshalls, entire stores full of clearance racks, making a trip to Mervyns entirely unnecessary.

I'm sorry, Mervyns, that I couldn't remain loyal. But you can be sure I'll be there for the last orgy of discounts, digging through marked down socks and dress shirts, clambering over piles of sheet sets and comforters, stumbling dazed through aisles of pots and pans, weeping all the while.

The Supreme Court has upheld Oregon's assisted suicide law. You can decry judicial activism all you want (and I'll wager that at least three conservative organizations will blame it in this case), but the law passed by majority vote and has withstood all constitutional challenges.

And for those scoring at home, a 6-3 decision means that a hypothetical Alito vote wouldn't have changed the outcome.

Jan 15, 2006

When giving an impromptu speech, don't do the word. It's a trap. You'll get slurped up by extruded intestine-beasties (the ones who stole the show in King Kong), and your only way out its through the Swamp of Banality. Have a point, too, maybe even two or three. Four is too many. And please, please, please don't define words we already know. "An idea is what you think about before you do something." No it isn't. Don't say "this is horrible" when you're speaking, even if it's true, and when you sit down, don't say "I want to shoot myself," which isn't true. Suicide is for depressed judges.

An oratory is a speech about something that matters. You know what I call your assemblage of perfectly mimed gestures, plastered facial expressions, choreographed steps from point to point, Peppy the Robot vocal inflections? "Performatory." If I want to see that, I'll watch television on a Sunday morning.

Don't shake my hand when you're simpering along with the rest and saying "Thank you for judging." I don't want your germs. My hands are preternaturally cold thanks to Raynaud's, so you'll get the impression that your speech has turned me into a lifeless zombie. You're right.

Don't ask for my paradigm. I don't carry a paradigm like a pocketwatch. Ask me what I like to see in a round, sure, or what my judging philosophy is. I'll gladly tell you, since it's simple: no weasely tricks, no biting, no hair pulling.

Jan 12, 2006

I want to write a novel. Something commercially successful, so I can retire early and spend the rest of my days ranching emus and shooting at visiting cultists. Or something profound and literary that would make Dostoevsky weep with admiration, if he weren't a decomposing skeleton.

I have the time, the talent, the motivation. But two massive obstacles stand in the way of success.

First, a plot. Tough to get off the ground without one. (Henry James thought differently, but I can't stand anything by Henry James.) My latest brilliant idea is a virus that destroys all of humanity except for the monster children kept locked in closets. Their post-apocalyptic future is decidedly antisocial. The only problem: how they escape.

Second, a pseudonym. "Jim Anderson" is dull as tapwater and common as appendicitis.

CORRUGATED TIMES-DISPATCH

NEW YORK -- At a hastily arranged press conference, a contrite Pat Robertson, famed televangelist and notorious big-mouth, offered apologies to anyone he has not yet offended.

"I'm sorry, George W. Bush," said Robertson. "In the coming months I will refer to you as 'the devil in a ten-gallon hat' and 'Satan's handmaiden.' I'm not sure why, exactly. But I feel the Spirit moving."

Robertson also offered conciliatory gestures to Sir Alex Ferguson, highly successful manager of Manchester United, a British football team that Robertson claimed would "somehow, in some way desecrate our Savior and draw forth the righteous vengeance of the Lord."

When asked if any world leaders should expect amends, given past retractions of God's wrath upon Hugo Chavez and Ariel Sharon, Robertson had a ready answer. "Pope Benedict--you are a great man. When I will refer to you as the Whore of Babylon, please note that God, not I, is the final judge from whom you will beg forgiveness as you are cast into the fiery pit of hell."

"I'm sorry. I did say I'm sorry," Robertson added. "Really and truly sorry. Face it--I'm going to the crow buffet at least once a week."

Robertson also pre-apologized to the City of Santa Fe, Shania Twain, The New York Yankees, Steve Jobs, and his masseuse.

The initiative, yet to be numbered, may turn out to be wildly popular, simply because it's simple. Schools will be obligated to spend sixty-five percent of their income on classroom instruction.

Classroom instructional spending is defined in the proposal as including teacher and aide pay, textbooks, distance learning expenses, field trips and supplies. The initiative excludes construction costs, principal salaries and interest payments on debt.

Sixty-five percent seems eminently reasonable. Sixty-five. The bulk. Almost two thirds. That's where the money ought to go, right?

I'm not quite sure.

A few observations.

First, can we forever banish 50-state ranking statistics, throw them in the burn barrel where they belong? Someone has to be ranked fiftieth, unless all states spend the same amount, dollar-for-dollar, which will never happen. Imagine if every state spent upwards of $15,000 per student per year. Would the citizens of Mississippi really care if they ranked last at that point? Furthermore, rankings that don't factor in cost-of-living adjustments are worse than useless. Let's talk about benchmarks, baselines. Relative assessments are essentially meaningless.

The "activities" portion is a trifle disingenuous. While activities undoubtedly boost academic performance--you'd better pass if you want to head the lacrosse squad--they're hardly in any normal definition of a "classroom" expenditure. Note, importantly, that the KOMO article doesn't specifically mention sports as an in-class "activity."

Lastly, I won't complain if the initiative passes and leads to real changes in the standard delivery model. But I'd imagine that creative accounting practices would be the first resort of districts hard-pressed by debt or otherwise pressed for cash.

Jan 11, 2006

Brian Baird, who was slated to speak to our sophomore class about the WASL (and other pithy subjects, I'm sure), canceled his afternoon appearance, leaving several teachers--myself included--scrambling to concoct a back-up lesson plan. Students were bummed.

[The year is 2006. On stage: two lecterns facing the audience, at an oblique angle to each other, spaced ten feet apart, microphones if the theater is large. The lectern at left should be gaudily decorated with tricolored bunting, backed by signs reading "DAVISON FOR GOVERNOR, 2000" and "Desperate Times Require Desperate Measures." Seated atop the right lectern is a fresh turnip, medium size, cheerful disposition. The turnip is mute, as it ought to be. At appropriate times a prompter should hold aloft a poster that reads "APPLAUSE." The audience will ignore the instruction; after all, there is no audience.]

[Davison enters from the left, stands behind the lectern, smiling and waving, pumping his fist in a victory salute.]

Davison: Greetings, friends and foes. I am here today to debate my esteemed opponent in the upcoming, and to show the great state of Vermont my plan for action, for success, for greatness in the coming centuries. I promise I will humbly shepherd you through the storm, attend to your every need, right every wrong, promote truth and justice and liberty at every turn.

Turnip:

[The turnip sits quietly, meditatively. Ponders.]

Davison: Let us begin the debate. What do you say to my proposal to replace all teachers with robo-drones, at considerable savings?

Turnip:

[Peace. Detachment. Very zen.]

Davison: I do not regard myself as a hand-waving tree hugger and am sorry you have to resort to that sort of tactic. What do you expect that to accomplish?

Davison: Well I see you have resurfaced with your usual lack of tact, your hallmark. As a matter of fact your knee jerk responses are the best evidence imaginable that even you are a victim, as we all are. You are one hostile cat.

Turnip:

[Such calm, such repose! We should all admire this turnip, this laconic vegetable. Ah--if only it would speak!]

Davison: [his voice rising slowly in pitch and volume, eventually reaching a squeaky soprano] Your bluster and innuendo do not impress me. You bore me. Got that? Write that down. You are proof positive, a self demonstrated liar. Slink back to the fort and send out another of your cowardly cronies to spew his venom here for all to see.

Turnip:

Davison: You are such a masochist and far too stupid to realize it!... [He pauses, uncertain] I declare victory by virtue of the default of my adversaries.... [Again, a pause] I'll have a banana-filled cucumber now....

[Davison slices open the cucumber and eviscerates the banana. He bites into it without peeling, savoring its delicious sweetness.]

Turnip:

[The turnip is nonplussed.]

Davison: [Davison turns and faces the audience, which isn't there, and looks toward the cameras, which aren't there either. Clutching his banana, he smiles, and squeaks.] I'm having the time of my life!

Jan 10, 2006

Could the digital revolution herald the demise of the endless staff meeting?

This afternoon we sat for fifteen minutes listening to five or six brief speeches about the potential change to semesters (we're wacky on trimesters, and hopefully for keeps), and that was it. We were dismissed early.

How? How could it be possible?

E-mail.

For the past week teachers had ranted and raved back and forth over the school e-mail server, pounding out passionate missives about the various benefits and deficits of the semester switch.

Jan 8, 2006

Smoking. Teen Angst Barbie reeks of stale cigarettes. Even though she tries to hide her habit from her mom, the smell of ash permeates her clothing, her hair, her breath. Teen Angst Barbie hangs out with Goth Barbie and Emo Barbie, but is never seen with Anorexic Cheerleader Barbie. All of them secretly smoke.

Methamphetamine. Barefoot Barbie lost six teeth and all her dignity to speed when her trucker boyfriend introduced her to the awake-all-night wonder drug. Now odors of cat urine waft through her dilapidated bungalow as Barbie slaves away at a hot stove, cooking to the strains of a baby's muffled cries. On the oven: meth. In the oven: Trucker Junior.

Coffee. Grad Student Barbie wasted the first nine weeks of the quarter watching reruns of Law and Order. Now her thesis, a Marxist critique of the California wine industry, buried in a pile of People magazines, sits at five pages. They're good pages, mind you, but it's going to be a long week. Now, where'd I put my note cards?

Limburger. Debate Camp Barbie fell asleep with her nose in On Liberty, sometime around three in the morning. At seven, she'll wake to a find her mouth full of the crudescent cheese. (She'll notice the permanent marker mustache when she tries to brush her teeth.)

Alcohol. Plush Lush Barbie hangs at Pietro's, downing glass after glass of Grey Goose vodka, trying to forget the millionaire assblanket who left her for an older woman. Irony loses its edge after five or six martinis.

Poor Dental Hygiene. You Barbie didn't floss yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. You Barbie brushes once a day on a good day. You Barbie hosts a rowdy bacterial ecosystem that parties all night on the tongue and sleeps off the party on the palate. You Barbie could light the fumes and breathe flame.

Jan 6, 2006

Thank you for your kind interest in a random English class halfway across the country. I hope by now you've received a stack of letters from other students whose teachers haven't yet discovered the brave new world of electronic communication. (It's an allusion!)

Even so, I might at least consider your proposition if it weren't for your missive's angrifying features.

1. The "%" symbol certainly looks like c/o, but there's a subtle difference.

2. Your naked appeal to my generosity is the worst possible strategy. I have minimal desire for your class to win a pizza party, no matter how grandiose and opulent said party may be. There's no satisfaction in vicarious gustation. None.

3. Paragraphs were invented for a reason.

4. Typing your name in italics does not substitute for a signature. If you're going to beg for help, at least go to the trouble of finding a ball point, never mind a gel pen.

I'm probably extra peeved because my name is first in the English department, alphabetically, so I get all these damned letters and gleefully throw them out after only a cursory inspection. Sorry. Not really.

Regards,

Me

P.S. Asking "all the girls in the class to send their pictures back!" makes me happier to send your letter air mail to the trash can.

Jan 4, 2006

1. The WASL counts. My sophomores, all eighty-eight, are required to pass all sections of the test in order to graduate. This is causing no end of consternation for a good number of students who never took it seriously before, especially when they were seventh graders more interested in the daily pimple watch. Congressman Brian Baird is coming to Capital to address student concerns. If I can go, I'll blog about it.

2. The Olympia tech levy. I had to ask for a special grant to get an LCD projector in my room on a full-time basis--and for only one year at that. The Internet (in the form of blogging) forms an essential part of my English classes, and a projector is critical for my teaching purposes. It's tough to teach students a simple technique by running around a computer lab explaining to one student so they can teach their neighbor. Capital's fairly well off, too, since our computer labs usually function (knock on silicon).

3. Capital slides down to 3A. We can't play with the big kids anymore, thanks to the impending WIAA reclassification. It won't affect my speech and debate team's regular season, since we'll still compete against the same powerhouses like Gig Harbor and Federal Way, but at state we won't face them. I'm not sure I like it. Beating the best is far more satisfying.

4. The hush-hush story that isn't mentioned. It involves massively destructive acts of vandalism, Crimestoppers, construction, and administrative angst. Can't say anything about it until it appears in The Olympian, due to the ongoing investigation. Only thing I can say for sure: I didn't do it.

Jan 3, 2006

So reports Komo News. It was about time; the Sonics have been playing languidly as of late, with rare meteors of brilliance in a field of banality, and they might as well fire the guy with the mediocre lifetime record.

Best quote comes at the end of the article, from Ray Allen: "I think we all believe we're a good team." Now that's certainty.

I had won. Quit cold turkey. Braved nausea and headaches. Endured the nights of cold sweat, the hunger pangs, the tremors and tics. Stopped thinking about it every moment, stopped imagining my fingers grasping the cylinder and bringing it to my mouth, forgot the clarity such a simple action could bring to my addled mind, banished it from my consciousness. Stopped dreaming about it. Stopped breathing it, smelling it, tasting it everywhere.

Found the strength to seek forgiveness--and to forgive myself.

Lived for months without the tiniest speck of desire. Clean. Pure. Myself again.

And then my wife and my mom bought me a sudoku calendar and two sudoku books for Christmas.

Jan 1, 2006

107.7 The End plays mainstream alternative music, mostly unobjectionable, sometimes suprisingly good. But the Top 107 songs of 2005: why in the (insert expletive) is Weezer's anemic, lyrically stultifying "Beverly Hills" in the top ten? And who chose Nine Inch Nails' cliché-ridden "The Hand That Feeds," a Sunday morning hash of the weekend's musical leftovers, Trent Reznor's worst song in a decade?

But nothing on the list carries half the gravitas and joy of last year's triumphant "Float On" or "Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse, from the sterling album Good News For People Who Love Bad News. It was a mediocre year for alternative music.

How the Mighty Have Fallen: Bands Who Shouldn't Have Sucked in 2005, But DidThe StrokesThe White StripesColdplayFoo FightersWeezerAudioslaveDepeche ModeNadasurfJimmy Eat WorldGarbage

He's earned it. Not only in his individual statistics, but, more important, in the win column. The Hawks are the NFC's most fearsome offense because of his amazing legs. This is your year, Mr. Alexander. On to the Superbowl.

If I have vomit forth one prediction for 2006, it's that the trend of increased media interactivity will continue. Consider our local paper, which knows that more and more users get their news in digital form, and consequently has made two changes to bring readers back.

The first is a bite-sized chunk of headlines in the classifieds called "News in 5." (Why the classifieds? Is that where "time-impoverished" readers head first? Not in my experience.)

The second involves the Web:

Also beginning today is Ask the Editors. This feature at www.theolympian.com gives you direct access to newsroom editors. If you have a question about articles, photographs or newsroom operations, follow the link and send us your question. A team of editors has been designated to find the answer for you and publish it at Ask the Editors.

Please go to www.theolympian.com/asktheeditors to check it out and let us know what you think. We’d also like to hear what you think about News in 5 and how we can make it more useful for you.

Notice what's also sitting at the top of the page: a "comments" button, where you, with your stinky armpit opinion, can join the conversation. How very... bloggish.

For the longest time newspapers have treated bloggers like the annoying little kid in Shane, latecomers who don't understand the old ways, even though the old ways are dead and gone. But now the bad guys are in ambush at the saloon, and the pestering tyke will be the one who saves Shane from death. It's a metaphor. Figure it out for yourself.

NetZero offered "HiSpeed 3G" for the same price as regular dialup, and I decided, hey, may as well sign up, since it comes with free antivirus software and I don't mind a yearlong commitment. To my dismay, though, the service--which uses proxies and graphics compression to speed up dialup--doesn't work with Firefox.

Sent a little email question to (free!) tech support:

I switched to HiSpeed 3G not realizing it doesn't work with Firefox. Is compatibility ever going to be available?

... and this was the answer.

Thanks for taking the time to write to us inquiring about the browsers you can use with NetZero HiSpeed 3G.

We understand your concern. Please note NetZero HiSpeed 3G works with Internet Explorer 5.1 and higher. We do not support Firefox or other Web browsers at this time.

I hope you enjoy using NetZero HiSpeed 3G.

Thanks for using Netzero!

"I don't know" or even "Never, sorry" would have been nice. But I can't get angry at NetZero--I'm too happy with their service. That's right, dust off the straightjacket and mop the padded cell--I'm happy with dialup!